The Story of Penny Gold’s Quilt “Self-Portrait, Year 2”

Last spring I wrote an article about Penny Gold’s quilt, “Self-Portrait, Year 2” for GenerationQ magazine. I continue to be so struck by this quilt and the story behind it that I’m republishing the piece here with the magazine’s and Penny’s permission.

“Self-Portrait, Year 2: Beneath the Surface” was one of the most memorable quilts on display at QuiltCon 2015 in Austin. A 68” x 94” conceptual piece, one side is a stark white with inky black letters that read, “I am a woman whose child is dead.” The other side is plain lavender with just the faint quilted outlines of the words visible.

Throughout the four days of the show this quilt created a constant stir. “I saw people talking about it, people bringing their friends over to see it, people shooting photos, people reading the label to find out the backstory,” recalled QuiltCon attendee Linzee McCray. “But I also saw people who were uncomfortable, who turned away.”

Although the quilt’s maker, Penny Gold, is grateful for the attention it got, she feels relieved that she was not there in person to witness the reactions. “I think it would have been hard,” she says. “It was better for me to take in the comments at a distance.”

Photo of Penny Gold by Peter Bailley/Knox College.

In the summer of 2004 Penny’s only son, Jeremy, was 18 years old and about to leave for college. Penny had begun quilting a few years before, and was making her first bed-sized quilt, a log cabin design Jeremy had selected for his dorm room bed. In July he was killed in a car accident.

At that time Penny was a history professor at Knox College in Galesburg, Illinois. She’d spent 30 years doing scholarly research and had authored four books when her life was suddenly shattered by Jeremy’s death.

Finding that she’d lost all interest in things that used to bring joy, such as reading and research, but not sure what to do to fill the excruciating void, she picked up some applique blocks and began to stitch. Quilting, she says, quickly took on a new role in her life.

“The sewing was a kind of analgesic, almost an anesthetic,” Gold recalls. “The process of making the quilts made it possible for me to live with the feelings of grief and guilt rather than have them be a spike in my heart.”

She began to think about the quilt she’d been making for Jeremy before he died. With just three blocks left to complete, she wasn’t sure what to do. “How could I finish it now that he was no longer here to receive it? But how could I discard this quilt I had been making for him?” With this idea as a guide, she altered the design of the final blocks, making them off center.

By disrupting the otherwise linear design she found a way to embed her grief within the quilt, and to express how her son’s life had so abruptly gone off-course. This was the beginning of what has now been over a decade of making quilts that express various aspects of living with loss. “I am not responding to the material world outside of me, but bringing out into the material world the world inside of me,” she explains.

Gold took courses in composition and color theory, beginning with two week-long design camp sessions with Bill Kerr and Weeks Ringle, in 2005 and 2006, which had a profound effect on her. It was there that she realized that an idea could guide a quilt’s design, rather than just color, shape, or pattern. Her quilt, “Loss,” came out of one of those workshops and Bill Kerr became her mentor and sounding board for the quilts that came next.

In the second year after her son’s death, Gold found mourning to be especially hard. “In the first year, because it’s been a short time, people are conscious of what has happened,” she explains. “After that, expressions of concern really drop off; I think people assume that after a year, life gets back to normal. And as time goes on you also start to interact with people who don’t even know it’s happened.” This feeling, that the mourning had to sink beneath the surface, became the guiding idea for a new quilt that would be a self-portrait of the second year of mourning.

She made a preliminary maquette for the quilt in 2006, and continued to sketch out various possibilities, but with several other projects in queue it didn’t get her full attention until 2012.

The concept she settled on was to write out the words “I am a woman whose child is dead” so that they would be obscured to the outside world. After months of experimentation, she took the plans for an obscured text to Bill Kerr for feedback. “I remember saying to him, ‘A part of me wants to scream it out in black and white.’” Bill suggested doing two quilts: the first with an obscured version of the message, and the second with it boldly stated.

Over time Gold combined both concepts into one. What she feels is the front of the quilt (but was displayed as the back at QuiltCon) is hand-dyed dusky lavender. The text on that side is only visible through its stitched outlines and is printed backward, representing hidden grief that is not clearly read by outsiders. The other side is the shout – a white field with black letters that seem to scream in pain.

Despite its apparent simplicity, every aspect of this quilt was painstakingly considered, including the wording. Early iterations included, “I am a woman whose son is dead,” “I am a woman whose child has died,” and “I am a person whose child is dead.” Eventually Gold settled on, “I am a woman whose child is dead,” a message Gold felt stated most directly the identity she was living with.

Months of research into typography led to the choice of Helvetica Neue Bold printed large. Although she’d originally envisioned attaching the letters with needle-turned applique, fusing was the best way to get a hard, crisp edge. The quilting goes around the edges of the text, using white thread on the front and lavender on the back, and then in precisely spaced vertical lines throughout, with clear thread on the front and lavender on the back. In place of batting she used felt to achieve a flat finish. To get an uninterrupted field without edges she chose to do a pillowcase binding which she describes as being quite challenging with a quilt this large.

Gold submitted three quilts to QuiltCon this year and two were juried in (the other is an improvisational piece playing with the idea of a flying geese block). “I was thinking if they accepted ‘Fuck Cancer’ and ‘Bang You’re Dead’ in 2013, there might be a place for this,” Gold says. “I’m a bit surprised the judges accepted it because it’s fused. It’s more of an art quilt. But I’m so grateful that it was included.”

Gold is hoping to have a solo show of her work and plans to display “Self-Portrait, Year 2: Beneath the Surface” suspended from the ceiling with the lavender side face front. “You’ll see that first,” she says, “and then on the way back you’ll take in the black text,” leading the viewer into the experience of mourning and the change in identity she felt after Jeremy’s death.

Penny Gold’s quilt represents in stitches and words a situation for which there are no words. Described by many as “moving,” “shocking,” and “courageous,” it was certainly a lasting memory of QuiltCon 2015. For Gold it is one quilt in an ongoing series of expressions of mourning for her only child.

“Am I a mother with him gone?” she asks. “The experience of being a mother is still part of me, but without a child I am not a mother.” Her quilts capture this piercing grief in a way that’s universal because, as she puts it, “So many around us hold beneath the surface some agony unknown to the rest of us. These quilts have helped me live with grief and guilt. They have helped me live as a person who has lost a child.“

For work done since the article, see Penny’s blog. She’ll be having a show of her work August 20-26, 2016, called “Loss,” at The Box, 306 E. Simmons St., Galesburg, IL.

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Comments

This story brought me to tears. As a mother, just imaging myself in her shoes throughout the story was painful. I know I would feel similar to Penny if I had lost a child. I would want people to know how bad I hurt and that my child’s death still matters. I’m grateful she has quilting to help her cope and express herself. Thank you for sharing this woman’s incredible story.

It took me ten years to quilt again after the loss of our son. The quiet and time to think while doing solitary tasks was unbearable. I’m glad Penny was able to find solace in her quilting. She is absolutely still a mother whether her child resides on earth or in heaven.

One will ALWAYS mourn the loss of a child, whether they be stillborn or older. My Mom lost her first born, my older sister, to breast cancer, my sister was only 38, she has been gone now for over 30 yrs. Indeed it is hard for people to know what to say to someone who has lost the one thing that is most loved in their lives, a child. Most say nothing for fear of bringing out deep pain & grief for the Mom, or Dad – I do not think anyone who is close to the person has forgotten the death. Everyone has their ways of dealing with their personal grief. If the quiltmaker used creating this quilt as hers, then so be it. I do not find it shocking, disconcerting etc. It is a *message quilt*, one the quilt maker wanted to share with the world. I can see how the quilt would make some very uncomfortable, the statement is about death, a subject which is most profound and unsettling for the general populace.

I’m touched by your comment, Ann. A number of times, individuals have said to me, when mentioning Jeremy, “I was reluctant to say anything–I didn’t want to remind you of his death.” There must be many others who have said nothing at all, for fear of re-opening my grief. But it’s the opposite–I am so grateful when someone brings up his name or shares some remembrance. He is never far from my thoughts, and the pain of his loss is permanently lodged in the center of my being–even while invisible to others. It warms my heart to know that others remember him also. So, please, everyone, if you’re thinking of a loved person who is gone, don’t hesitate to mention him/her to those closest. If they’re anything like me, they will be really glad to know you are thinking of him.

I was struck by this piece as I turned a corner at the QuiltCon exhibit last spring. It was very powerful, much like that experienced visiting a Holocaust museum. I was thankful it was quiet and few people around so I could pay my respects to the grieving mom. Thank you for sharing her story.

I am a woman whose child is dead. Today is my 41st anniversary. It is also the Secular anniversary of my 2nd son, Joshua’s Bar Mitzvah. I am a Mother whose child is dead. Joshua was murdered on September 11, 2001, at the WTC. He was 23. This quilt resonates deeply within me. I, too, am a woman whose child is dead.

Wonderful story. Thank you for republishing. Last year, a teacher at the school were I work at lost her son in a car accident and he also was on his way to college. I will share this article with her. So glad to hear that stitching helps Penny heal. It really helps to make art and craft. Thank goodness we can!

When I saw the quilt and read your article, it made me stop and remember a young friend who was headed to medical college in Texas in 1972. On his way there, he died in a car accident. His needless death has never left my memory. I am not his mother or sister or brother, but how it affected me was profound and I can not even imagine the grief his family was feeling. I think this quilt is needed, it helps us remember others suffer inside, just as we do and maybe just maybe… help us to be more patient, understanding and compassionate as we know not what the Person we stand next to is dealing with in their life. This quilt portrays grief so perfectly…heartbreakingly so.

I am a woman whose child is dead. I’m only just learning to live with this notion. My perfect eight year old daughter died a moth ago from bacterial meningitis, it killed her in just five hours and no medical intervention was helping. We are extremely lucky to live in BC and have an amazing children’s hospital. When I daughter was transferred to the ICU we found a handmade quilt covering her. I asked the nurse and she explained that these get donated to this unit to serve as a memento to take home to remind you of this time in your child’s life.
The next day I brought from home her very own guilt I made when she was six months old. This quilt stayed on her body until she entered the surgery to donate her organs to save lives of four children.
I promised to myself to honour her passing and make eight quilts to donate to the ICU at her one year anniversary. But right now I can’t sew them just yet, my machine reminds me of all the toys and bags I made for my girl.
My husband and I are just learning how to live with our grief and your quilt so eloquently expresses our reality. On the inside this profound statement fills the entire quilt, leaving very little room for other elements . On the outside it is barely visible, but if you know what is on the inside you can clearly see it.
I hope that over time the writing on the inside can give room to other quilt blocks, the composition might be unbalanced and random at first, but over time more and more blocks will take over the space, but no matter what, the central block that so clearly and precisely reads ” I am a woman whose child is dead” will always remain stealing the attention from all the other beautiful pieces of the quilt .
I thank you for this quilt , your story gives me hope to sit down and start sewing again, Sara’s mom

Dear Sara’s mom, I am so sorry to hear the story of your daughter’s sudden death–my heart breaks anew thinking of your agony in the hospital. I wish you weren’t in the position of understanding so well the quilt I made. . .
If you’d like to see more of the work I did in the wake of my son’s death, a website with work that will be exhibited next week is here: http://faculty.knox.edu/pgold/Exhibition_2016/LOSS-Exhibition.html
With hopes for strength to you in the coming months and years,
Penny, Jeremy’s mom

Thank you Penny for your kind words.
We are about to mark three months without our kiddo. My sewing machine is covered by beautiful fabrics my amazing neighbor donated for the self promised quilts.
Days, weeks are passing and we are learning to live through our firsts…
As the holidays are approaching my mind is filling up with more and more ideas about more authentic ways to celebrate our friends and community that were our rock when we needed to find our footing after falling into the quicksands.
I love the stories behind your quilts, I never knew that one can say so much with a “bits of fabrics stitched together”. But that is true for everything in life, we just have to stop, listen, and learn.
Thank you Penny

I saw this quilt at QuiltCon and went back to look at it many, many times. I am the sister to a brother who died and this quilt captured our families grief. He was the same age and life as Jeremy and I felt the quilt was speaking directly to my Mother. Even tho my brother died in 1972, the grief can be fresh on anniversaries, birthdays, always knowing there was a place at our family gatherings that was vacant. Please know other people walk a similar journey. I am sorry this was created out of tragedy, but please know how many people you have touched and made aware of the journey of loosing a child.

Thanks so much for your comment, Joanne. It is reassuring to hear from someone whose loss was decades ago, to know that the grief still surfaces. Though painful, the feeling of grief is still a vivid sense of connection. Thirteen years since Jeremy’s death now, the grief no longer underlies everything, but comes episodically. Sometimes I wish it visited me more frequently. . .

By just looking at the quilt, I could feel the pain.
I have never seen any art that conveyed the creator’s state of mind so clearly.
I have never seen anything that made me feel so much empathy.
Thank you for telling the story….